Monday, December 28, 2015

III.
I think about dissipating into the sky
or falling from it
Into the still scene below
Like printer paper laid out in sheets side by side
An improbable checkerboard
The first third of your life is over when you turn four
And the years get smaller and smaller from then on
Like ants marching off into the desert
Or perhaps through one big Dusty Bistro
All bananas and Chinese breakfast tea
Rhinestones on tip jars
In 2016 I want at least four times four
salty seasons
Give me Fifty Senses
A jingling coin purse
A soft wind and my twin
We are ants on a trail
.....Black square....White square......
Black square....White square..........
That's the checkered floor
A jingling coin purse
My twin and soft wind
When the plane turns like a top
On the tip of the wing
I'm just playing
Plain games

There are demons among us
possessions left and right
We encircle the sand pit made of bricks
I pierce a demon in the heart
with a long stake, a tool, a rake
she lays down in the fire
With black hair and pointed eyebrows
S & M but a ragged sooty gown
I know she should turn to ash and burn like paper
turn black and curl into tiny pieces that lift into the sky
But she is half doing that and half defying the exorcism trick
she won't die
A Christmas demon
Red bricks and black leather
I sink into the corner of the narrow cave
Satan is Real sang the Louvin Brothers

Sunday, December 27, 2015

tiny, dynamic ghosts
black shadows on the attic ceiling
I'm not scared of them
ghosts in the boxed chardonnay
can't seem them but
the wine came out brown
returning the box of The Borrowers
to the Wine Library
where the box didn't even
come from in the first place
but the Wine Library
is absolutely where the Borrowers belong
with all those dark wooden alcoves
and secret doors leading to
tasting rooms?
cheese samples, crystal displays
3 miniature dimensions
I thought maybe I needed glasses

accidentally crushing a straw angel in the attic window
ghosts in the fridge
on the legs of a table
an empty space for a stove

smooth
plane at night
like the freeway, smooth
landing on the freeway
it's OK
one with a couple cars

descending is always
so evokative
so much "on this view"
of LA
the return to something
so large
it's impossible
to make a word
for the whole of it
instead,
collecting corners
and vague theories
of grounded-ness
in the freaking air

the view and it's follow through
never cease to be the opposite
of home, old and cold, cave-like

once I've touched down I know how to go about the rug to make it fun and some playmates are there waiting
it's the rug in one room of my home theory
it can be exciting, in the basement
I've gotten to know it well although it remains xL

I don't associate myself with this rug off the bat but there's something about it for me for sure after all it is in one room of my home theory and there are playmates there waiting for me even if some are unfamiliar or strangely big zooming in on movement hovering now waiting to be actually back again trapped in the rug until I take anther night plane and get eaten next to for six hours bags and bags of kosher junk and a hat box in the overhead sliding looking cool in secret the eater whispering into his cell phone a mystery glow under his seat and a few bumps here and there is an understatement and one week is simply confusing

sand piper ghosts
stay 20 feet ahead
as I follow them
on the slick
moonlit sand

a shadowy
belted figure
complete with a cap
says hey,
stay off the surf!
the stingrays are a month early

why do you have so many
accessories at night?

but that's my cue
I think
I'm watching out for you

high tide gonna
kick you off the beach
if nothing else
gonna send you back
to your sandy bed
eventually
feeling
tan at night
walking from the hard
to soft

a different day
running TO the beach
with wet blue nails
(also purple and sultry)
fireworks in the distance
a small girl in a yankees
shirt and a low pony
emerges and my heart
beats in the center
of familiar love!

Thursday, July 2, 2015

Small breasts with nipples that wilt in and downThe prepubescent petal lookI shouldn't be on the blacktoppeople think i'm twelveSummer, SummerThe overly sexual LoungeWaiting for youA sigh that is Too heavy Asserting independence A sigh for meand no one elseIn the quick shadows of clouds that pass overheadWhile he plays basketballShe ages at an accelerated rateFighting back against the way time flattensHow can anyone ever be tired in this life